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“ With his dark locks and swarthy cheeks smudged 
with dirt, the good folks took him fot 
some gipsy boy.” 




Honor Bright 

A STORY OF THE DAYS OF KING CHARLES 


BY 


MARY C. ROWSELL 


WITH TWENTY-THREE ILLUSTRATIONS 



PHILADELPHIA 

HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY 


6 7194 

if Ol 

j V^L COPtU KECtiirED 

OCT 27 1900 


Copynght entry 






stretched in the broad seat of a latticed window, gazing earnestly 
with his great dark eyes on the scene before him. The window was 
the only one in the room, which was situated high up in a sort of 
tower at the corner of a big old house. 

The beautiful garden surrounding the house was laid out in 
long terrace walks, with wide stone steps and balustrades, and 
planted with smooth-shaven yew-hedges as thick and almost as 
sturdy as walls, and the flower-beds carpeting the ground were 
ablaze with glorious colors in the shadowless sunshine, for the great 
bell in its wooden cote above the square red-brick gate-house was 
ringing out midday. Bounding the garden on every side were 
lofty walls, covered with the spreading branches of plum and pear 
and apple trees, and the rich fruit gleamed red and tawny and pur- 
ple, bright as gems among the green leaves. Away beyond the gar- 
den, far as eye could reach, stretched wood and dale and fair green 
meadows, where the sheep cropped at the sweet turf and the cows 

5 


6 


HONOR BRIGHT 


grazed, whisking away the tiresome flies with their great tails as 
they moved slowly along. Here and there among the leafy hedge- 
rows and coppices, the little boy, whose Christian name was Charles, 
could see from his lofty watch-place the gleaming of a stream 
which wound like a silver ribbon on and on, nearer and nearer, 
till it reached the little wood covering the wide, sloping banks which 
shut in the road leading past the house. There for some distance 
it was almost completely lost in the ferny brushwood, peeping out 
again at last in a rush-grown pool. Thence hurrying onward, it 
wound right round the walls of the house, so that to reach the 
great nail-studded main door you had to cross a little one-arched 
stone bridge. 

Faster and faster, as he gazed upon this fair scene, the tears 
brimmed up into the little lad’s eyes, until they rolled down his 
cheeks — cheeks not very rosy or chubby, like those of most boys 
and girls of eight or nine years old, which was the age of this boy, 
but of a clear, naturally healthful brown, although just now they 
looked a little wan. His hair was also dark, and fell in thick curly 
locks upon the broad collar of Flemish lace covering his shoulders 
to the top of the sleeves of his dark-green velvet surcoat. His face 
was rather handsome, and, although there was an expression of self- 
will about his lips, it was mingled with great good-humor, as if he 
had a kind, generous nature, and might look merry enough when 
there was anything to be merry about. 

That, however, he at present considered as being very far 
from the case; and at last his silent weeping broke out into 
loud sobs, which grew only the louder the more he strove to 
stifle them. They could be heard such a long way off that 
they reached the ears of Lady Chauncy, the mistress of the house, 
who was sitting at her needlework in her private room on the 
floor below. She rose with a little impatient frown at being 
thus disturbed, and taking from a side-table a small gilt cage, 
which contained a fine blackbird or merle, as blackbirds were then 
called, and carrying it with her, went up the stairs to the room 
where the boy was. 


HONOR BRIGHT 


7 


First removing a stout wooden bar from across the door, she 
lifted a bunch of big keys, hanging from her girdle, and, selecting 
one of the keys, put it in the lock of the door, turned it, and entered 
the room. 

“What is the matter?” she said, as she carefully locked the 
door behind her, and advanced a few steps into the room. She 
was an oldish lady, with a yellowish wrinkled face framed tightly 
in with a cap of fine linen in such a fashion that, if she had 
any hair, none of it was to be seen. Fler eyes were light green- 
gray, and gleamed sternly, but not unkindly, under their thick 
grizzled brows upon the boy, as at sight of her he slid down 
from his corner, and went and sat in a large high-backed armchair. 
Fie brushed away the tears from his eyes, but he made no answer, 
and the lady had to repeat her question. 

“What are you crying about? Are you ill?” she went on. 
“ Have you a headache, or a toothache — or any ache? ” 

“ No, madam, not the merest finger-ache,” replied the little 
lad, with almost a smile. “ There is nothing — nothing at all amiss 
with me,” and then, in spite of his grand words, a last lingering 

sob broke up his speech. “ I am only — only ” 

“Only hungry — is that it?” she said, with a relieved look. 
“ Well, eating is the best cure for that, and your favorite dinner 

will be here directly roast beef ; so dry your eyes.” 

The boy’s face did not, however, grow much brighter, and Lady 
Chauncy began to knit her stern brow again. “ Come, come, your 
Highness is hard to please to-day,” she went on; “what is amiss 
with you to be so naughty and discontented? Pray what can you 
lack? Where are your draughts, and your beautiful new horn- 
book, and your brave new troop-horse which his Majesty brought 
all the way from Cheapside in his own coach for you? You 
ought to be happy as the day is long, with everything dainty and 
to your taste to eat, and a soft bed, and the blue sky and the fair 
scene to look at from this casement. What, tears again ? ” for 
at these last words of Lady Chauncy’s the boy’s breath quivered 
very much as if the sobs were going to burst out afresh. “ Nay,” 


8 


HONOR BRIGHT 


she went on, “ I’ll warrant they will dry up fast enough when 
you see what I have here for you,” and, pulling off the cover of 
the gilt cage, she placed it on the table. “ William the gardener 
caught this pretty bird to-day, and I have put it in this fine cage 
and bring it you for a present. What do you say? ” 

The boy did not reply. He only looked hard at the captive 
bird, and still the tears seemed swelling in his throat. It is a 
brave bird,” he said softly at last. 

“ Well, I am glad you are pleased with it,” said Lady 
Chauncy, “ but I must be going now — and hark,” for at this moment 
there came a loud tap at the door, “ there is Wynkin come with 
your dinner,” and she turned and unlocked the door for a serving- 
man who entered with a silver tray laden with plates and dishes, 
and, entrusting him with the key of the door, she went out, closing 
it carefully behind her. 

Meanwhile the servant spread the snowy damask cloth on 
the carved oak table and arranged the dishes, and having helped 
the boy from the joint of roast beef, and poured out a goblet full 
of clear golden cider from a silver flagon, he took up a place 
behind Charles’s tall-backed chair, looking in a concerned, half-scared 
sort of manner at the boy when, after a few mouthfuls, he pushed 
aside the plate. 

“ Take it away,” he said. 

“ But your Highness has hardly eaten anything,” said Wynkin. 

“ No,” said Charles, “ I can’t eat any more in this stifling cup- 
board of a place. Could you now, Wynkin?” 

Wynkin grinned. “ I think I could,” he said, “ if ” 

“If what?” 

“ Well, if it was roast beef.” 

“ Don’t you have roast beef for dinner of a day ? ” 

“ Only on Sundays, your Highness. Week-days we have 
mostly porridge for dinner, or, for a treat now and again, a sop in 
the pan of barley-bread.” 

“And what do you have for pudding?” inquired the Prince, 
as Wynkin removed the thrust-aside plate and placed a dish of 



“ At the sight of her he slid down from his 
corner and went and sat in a large 


lO 


HONOR BRIGHT 


quince tarts on the table all heaped up with whisked cream stuck 
over with sugar-plums; “sweets, you know/’ 

“ Oh, we don’t have them at all, except at Christmas, which 
comes but once a year, worse luck. A little sour buttermilk some- 
times perhaps, but sweet things, bless your heart, no.” 

“ Oh, yes, you do,” said Charles, with a merry twinkle in his 
eye; “you have the sweetest thing of all — liberty.” 

“ Why, yes, that is true,” admitted Wynkin, gazing down sor- 
rowfully at the boy. 

“ And I wish I were you, Wynkin,” went on Charles, all the 
clouds darkening his face again. “ It’s dreadful to be a King’s son, 
I can tell you; and treated as if I’d done something wrong, and I 
haven’t — I haven’t.” 

“ No, of course not,” said Wynkin, in consoling tones. “ It 
isn’t possible, for the King can do no wrong. I’ve always heard say. 
Every idiot knows that, and it isn’t likely his son can, particularly 
his eldest son, the Prince of Wales, like you are.” 

“ I never thought of that,” said Charles, with a meditative air, 
as he lifted all the whipped cream with his spoon from his tart and 
swallowed it at a gulp. “ I may do whatever I please and it won’t 
be wrong. But there, that’s just it — I can’t do what I please. 
How can I? I want to run and jump and bathe out in that 
splendid pool there, and climb up those great tall fellows of trees 
and — and — do all the things other boys do — for I’m not a baby 
now — I’m turned nine — and it’s a shame, keeping me cooped up in 
this mousetrap of a room. Oh, you know it is, Wynkin, and you 
might say so, if you had a kind heart, but you haven’t — you are hard- 
hearted and cruel, like the lords.” 

“ But they have to be cruel to be kind,” contended Wynkin. 
“ The King’s Majesty, God preserve him, has so many enemies — so 
many who hate him.” 

“ Yes, I know, so ’tis said,” replied the boy, “ and ’tis all very 
well, Wynkin, but I can’t believe it. My father is so gentle and 
kind. If ’tis true, ’tis because they don’t know him.” 

“ That may be so, your Highness. And ’tis just the business 


HONOR BRIGHT 


II 


of many of those who call themselves his Majesty’s friends to hinder 
him from being known as — as you know him. And you see, there 
are bad men about of all sorts and sizes and parties, who want to 
get you away from him.” 



“ I’d be torn in pieces first,” said the child, his dark face 
flushing. 

‘‘ Yes,” said Wynkin, “ that’s about what it would be. I’m 
not certain but I think now there’s a price set upon your head.” 

“ What’s the good of it to anybody ? ” laughed Charles. 

‘'Oh, well, there mayn’t, of course, be anything in it?” 

“ Inside my head ? ” laughed Charles still more merrily. 


12 


HONOR BRIGHT 


“ In the talk, your Highness.” 

That is as it may be,” said Charles, “ but there is more than 
one idea inside my head, and the biggest is that I’m not afraid of 
these evil persons; and the next is that if I can only get out of this 
badger-hole of a room. I’ll let them know I’m not — and I’ll protect 
my father from — where is my father just now, Wynkin? ” 

He was in London a few days since.” 

'' Is mother with him? ” 

‘‘ Nay, I think she has gone to France, to fetch soldiers to 
come over and fight for the royal cause.” 

“ Oh, that is all right, and when they come — now, Wynkin, look 
here — I intend to go to my father and fight by his side. Oh, I 
tell you I can — see,” and, seizing his little wooden toy sword, he 
tipped his left fingers over his head and thrust out the weapon 
with such a valiant air that Wynkin laughed heartily and said he 
had never seen a finer copper captain. 

“ Nay, copper captain forsooth,” said Charles, flinging away 
the sword, and seizing the long white stick which Wynkin carried as 
his staff of office when waiting on the Prince. “ I’ll show you 
I’m no copper captain,” and he began to lunge about with it so 
lustily that at last he gave Wynkin a sharp poke in the eye. 

Oh, dear,” cried the boy, throwing down the stick; and, springing 
into the serving-man’s arms, he clung round his neck and stroked 
his damaged eye. “ I’m so sorry, Wynkin. It doesn’t hurt much, 
does it — though it is going all red and black ? ” 

“ Nothing to talk about,” said Wynkin, “ but you can cut and 
thrust with the best of ’em. Feeling’s believing.” 

“ Yes,” said Charles proudly. 

“ A regular don at it you are,” went on Wynkin, as he began 
to pile the dinner things together for taking away, but I must 
be going now.” 

Oh, don’t go,” pleaded the lonely boy. 

“ Needs must. I’ve got to be going up-stream with some corn 
sacks, and the last harvest load’s being carried to-day, and all 
hands are turned on.” 


HONOR BRIGHT 


13 


Except mine,” sighed the Prince, gazing down sadly at his 
little slender white hands. “ It’s hateful. Now, Wynkin,” he went 
on, turning suddenly with a commanding air upon the serving- 
man, “ listen to me. Give me that key immediately,” and he 
pointed to the key which Lady Chauncy had entrusted to Wynkin, 
and which the man had thrust into the breast of his jerkin in such 
a manner that the handle peeped out. “ I want it.” 

“Oh, do you?” said Wynkin, most respectfully. 

“ Yes, and you must give it me immediately.” 

“ Faith, not I, your Highness. You’ll be trying to unlock the 
door with it the next thing,” grinned Wynkin. 

“ Certainly,” replied Charles majestically. “ That is the purpose 
for which I require it.” 

Wynkin’s broad smile grew broader than ever. “ What next, 
I should like to know,” said he. 

“ That is a matter that does not concern you,” replied the 
Prince; “ your manner is very disloyal. If you must know, I want 
to get out.” 

“ Which is precisely what his Majesty has forbidden my lord 
and my lady to allow you to do,” rejoined Wynkin, “ and they 
have given him their word of honor and solemn promise that 
you shall not get out, and it’s because I have always been trusted 
by my lord and my lady to abide by my word, and have never 
broken faith to them, that they allow me to wait upon your 
Highness,” and Wynkin took a long breath, for he was not used 
to making such lengthy speeches. “ Honor bright, you know,” 
concluded he. 

The young Prince made no reply. For a long time he stood 
looking Wynkin full in the face with thoughtful-looking eyes, and 
Wynkin returned the gaze, but whether his damaged eye hurt him, 
or somehow a tearful choking kind of feeling in his throat troubled 
him, it is certain that he turned away, and hurriedly gathering 
the dinner things together on his tray, he went out, carefully 
locking and barring up the door behind him. 


CHAPTER II 


Minerva's nose 



C HARLES stood listen- 
ing to Wynkin’s depar- 
ting footsteps down the 
oaken staircase till the last 
echo of them died out. Even 
then perhaps he would not 
have stirred, had it not been 
for the merle, who suddenly 
piped a plaintive note or 
two in his cage, which 
Wynkin had hung upon a 
handy nail near the window. 

“ Ah,” cried Charles, 
turning quickly to the bird, 
“ I forgot all about you.” 

The merle looked at 
him with his bright eyes, 
in which there seemed to 
the boy to be a sorrowful pleading expression. 

“ What is the matter, birdie, old fellow? ” said Charles. “ Are 
you hungry? No; they would never have neglected to give you 
seed and water, I am sure.” 

And there, as he looked to ascertain, he found not only seed 
and water to the very brim of the pannikins, but also, stuck between 
the bars, a big piece of watercress, while at the bottom of the cage 
was a large worm wriggling about. Nothing, in fact, was wanting 
to the convenience and content of the tenant of the cage — in the 
way, that is, of creature comforts — ^but his wings drooped forlornly, 
and he looked very unhappy, nevertheless. 


14 


HONOR BRIGHT 


IS 

“ Ah,” said the Prince, as he clambered on to the high window- 
seat, and took down the cage, “ I like you very much, you dear 
little fellow; and I should like to keep you, -for I am very lonely, 
and you are most sweet company, and it is a very fine cage, isn’t 
it? But you are breaking your merry heart in it, I am positive 
you are, and you shall get out. Her ladyship may not approve; 
she may even whip me for it, though I believe she mustn’t do 
that, much as her fingers often itch for it, but I’m going to let you 
go,” and so saying, he unfastened the door of the cage, and set the 
entrance against the open lattice. “ There, go,” he went on, as for 
an instant the bird perked his shiny head on one side, as if he 
was listening intently to all Charles was saying to him, ‘‘ fly away, 
dear bird, and joy go with you, for outside you will find it again.” 

And then with a flap of his wings, away flew the merle, 
straight across the moat into mid-air, till he reached the bough of a 
high elm not far off. There he settled, and opening his yellow 
beak, he set up such a joyous song as never was heard — anyway, 
inside a cage. 

“ I expect,” said Charles, looking into the cage again, and 
poking the watercress stalk under the body of the worm, “ that you 
would rather wriggle down there among the flowers than in that 
miserable sprinkling of sand,” and with that he flung the worm far 
across the moat on to the grassy bank below. “ Of course, if Master 
Merle catches you again, you must settle the matter between you, 
and it is certain he will be picking up an appetite again now, and 
it will be ‘ catch as catch can.’ ” 

Then, putting the toe of his little silver-and-blue rosetted shoes 
to the cage, he sent it flying to the other side of the room. That 
done, he dropped wearily down again in the great tall velvet chair, 
and lolled back, a very picture of misery and discontent. 

Who’d imagine,” he muttered to himself, “ that it was such a 
horrid thing to be a Prince? I wonder if all Princes are so 
wretched, or whether it is only Princes of Wales, like me? ” Then 
he yawned and lay with his eyes wandering listlessly round the 
room, watching the rays of the afternoon sun as they poured in 


i6 


HONOR BRIGHT 


at the lattice. The air felt stifling, for it was a small room, 
considering, that is, that the house was such a large one; but 
great mansions in those golden days, when Charles the First was 
King, contained rooms of all sizes as well as all shades. Rooms 
were not merely four square walls, as mostly they are now, but 
built as it might be into all sorts of passages and corridors and 
staircase landings, now with a step or two up, now with a step 
or two down. One reason for this was that, as time went on, 
the owners of these big houses would add on a piece here, a 
wing there, and the level of the old floors and the new floors 
would not always exactly lie together, but it made the houses 
much more amusing and snug to live in. 

Such a queer hole-and-corner chamber was the old Cedar 
Room, as it was called, in which little Charles Stuart, King 
Charles the First’s eldest son, had been shut up for three weeks 
past. The King himself, with his Court, had been in London, 
but the Roundheads, who were the King’s discontented subjects, 
and the Royalists, who were faithful to him, were glowing into 
a red heat of rage with each other. It was no longer safe 
for the little boy to be in London, and so the King had en- 
trusted him to the care of one of his most devoted friends and 
counselors, who took him away at dead of night from London 
to his home in Warwickshire, and nobody — not even the other 
Royalists — was certain where the child was. Many thought that he 
had been carried across the sea to France. It was not of much use 
telling the boy that he had been taken away from his father and 
mother for his good. The poor little lad was not old enough to 
understand how this could be, and so he was very unhappy, and 
he detested with all his might that old Cedar Room, and all that 
was in it, though it was considered a vastly fine room, and a very 
curious one. That, indeeed, was one reason why Lady Chauncy, who, 
for all her prim manner, was a most kind, motherly person, had 
persuaded her husband to lodge the young Prince in it, “ for be- 
sides being so high up and remote,” said she, the mannikins will 
be huge and endless amusement for him, and make the time pass 









“ When that sun-ray tips it with red, I’ll see 
if I can’t hit it. I’ve hit a better 
mark before now.” 


i8 


HONOR BRIGHT 


more quickly till there is an end to all this pother, and the child 
can get about again.” 

Now, the mannikins, as her ladyship called them, were the little 
figures carved on the panels of the walls all around the Cedar Room, 
which was of a rather lop-sided shape, neither square nor oblong, but a 
little of all three fitted into the uppermost part of an angle of the 
mansion which jutted far over the moat. These panels were very 
old, at least two hundred years, and the room was as ancient, but 
its walls were as stout and sturdy as on the day they were made. 
The panels were of Flemish carving, and they represented the gods 
and goddesses of heathen mythology. There was Jupiter hurling 
lightning from his throne, Juno with her peacocks, Vulcan hammering 
away on his anvil, and Minerva sitting up very majestically in her 
helmet and coat of mail, holding her shield. The faces, however, 
of these far-famed personages were far from being like what Charles 
had always imagined of them when his father had r'elated tales 
about them to him, as often he had done. According to this des- 
cription of them, which sometimes the King would read out loud to 
him from the poetry-history of Homer, they were beautiful, even 
glorious, to look upon, but these mannikins were as ugly and clumsy 
almost as if they were made of gilt gingerbread. They were pretty 
well as broad as they were long, dressed in jerkins, or muffled in 
cloaks and full skirts, and their faces were almost all nose, that is 
to say, where they had any at all, for many of the noses had stuck 
out so far that they had got chipped off or worn flat. Why the 
carver of all these gentry had made such a point of their noses 
puzzled Charles, who for the first few days of his living in the Cedar 
Room was certainly immensely amused with this silent, droll 
company; but after a while he got cross with their dull faces. 

“ If they were real,” he said one day to Wynkin, “ what block- 
heads they would be ! ” 

“ And blockheads they are now,” had been Wynkin’s reply. 

And if there was one of the wooden folk Charles found 
more irritating than another, it was Madam Minerva. She sat up 
so prim and cross-looking and her nose poking out from under her 


HONOR BRIGHT 


19 


helmet, bigger even than that of great Jove himself; or so it seemed 
to Charles, as he lay listlessly watching the afternoon sun-rays 
pouring in at the lattice, and listening half glad, half sad to the 
piping of the happy merle in the elm-tree, and the voices of the 
harvesters far down below in the fields. 

How he longed to be with them and watch the loading of 
those last sheaves into the big carts, and how stiflingly hot the 
Cedar Room was, and how particularly forbidding and disagreeable 
goddess Minerva there looked, and how uncomfortable and heavy 
must be that scale armor of hers, and that shield, and the helmet, 
not to speak of such a nose. Ah! And, stretching out his hand 
over the arm of the chair, Charles picked up his toy bow, which 
lay with his own gilt pasteboard cuirass and tin helmet and wooden 
broadsword and other weapons on the floor, and setting the bow 
with a bolt, he sat waiting. ‘‘ Yes,” he murmured, with a wag of his 
head, and setting his lips tight, “ I won’t put up with her any 
longer, her and her nose. And when that sun- 
ray tips it with red, as in a minute or two it 
will, I — ril see if I can’t hit it. I’ve hit a 

better mark before now.” Then he waited and 

watched, and the crimson gleams crept 
on and on across the carved panels, 
and — whizz! went the string, snapping 
right back across Charles’s own nose 
so sharply that it stung him and he 
shut his eyes for a minute. When he 
opened them he beheld a strange and 

most un- 
/ : expected 

sight. 




CHAPTER III 


THE DARK PASSAGE 



HE panel was turning round! slowly, but most surely turning 


1 round, much in the way that a turnstile moves, as if on a 
pivot or pin running from top to bottom of the wood. 

Charles could hardly believe his eyes, which, indeed, after that 
stinger from the bowstring, were for a minute or two not so trust- 
worthy as usual. Pie very soon, however, saw clearly enough that 
the panel really was open, and now stood half-way inside the room, 
half-way outside in the shadowy space beyond. 

So amazed was he that for a short time he could not stir hand 
or foot, and only stood staring at the panel. But if he had never 
seen such a thing before, it was no great marvel, for not many 
people had done so. He had not only heard of, but seen, panels 
that lifted above into the walls, window-sash fashion, and panels 
that slid back sideways into grooves, and in the hope that such 
panels might be found in that room, he had spent hours in pushing 
and shoving and poking about the edges and frameworks of the 
carvings till his little fingers ached again. Then a hundred times he 
had cried, “ Open, Sesame ! ” as Ali Baba did, but nothing had come 
of it. Yet now, here, in the most unexpected manner it had happened, 
and accordingly, like people in general, big or little, when on those 
rare occasions that which their heart most longs for comes to pass, 
he stood as if he was dazed and unable to believe it true. He soon, 
however, found his wits again, and slipping down from the chair, he 
crossed the floor and peeped into the dark space, though gingerly 
enough, lest the panel should think proper to snap to, and treat his 
nose as badly as he had treated poor Minerva’s. 

Then he carefully examined the condition of that good lady, 
and found her to be not at all herself as he had hitherto had the 


20 


HONOR BRIGHT 


21 


pleasure of her acquaintance. To 
be sure she sat bolt upright as 
ever, as far as her shoulders, but 
her head hung down now all dingle- 
dangle. Was her neck broken? 
No; it was not as bad as that, it 
was dislocated, and hung wobbling 
by a sort of metal hinge to which 
there seemed some wires and a 
steel spring attached. 

Well, certainly, thought Charles, 
as he looked, those Flemish crafts- 
men must have been very clever 
fellows. He did not however 
stop to think much about anything, 
for the belfry over his head began 
to sound with a terrific clrino*or 

O 

as he stood in the opening. Five 
o’clock, and at five his supper was 
always brought him, and after that 
he had to go to bed. There was 
not a moment to lose, and, after a very brief consideration he stepped 
back into the room, and took off his doublet, putting it in a corner 
of the window-seat. Being such sultry weather all he wore under 
the doublet was the little shirt of fine cambric; then — but hark! 
voices ! Why, bless your heart, yes, the merle’s voice, and the har- 
vesters all rejoicing in the soft cool air which the waning day had 
brought. Quite a little breeze, in fact, as it came rustling and 
ruffling up from below to where Charles stood in the queer dark 
nook outside the panel; but his eyes were growing accustomed to 
the darkness now, and he could see that he was standing on the 
top of a staircase which wound down and down out of sight. There 
was one thing he had forgotten, in all his excitement, and a thing 
of the utmost importance too. His sword. He would not encumber 
himself with his armor or other weapons, but as a soldier and a 



22 


HONOR BRIGHT 


gentleman his short sword he must have; and he went back again 
and, picking it up from the floor, he stuck it into his belt, for he 
needed both hands free. Then slipping out once more upon the 
shelf of a landing, for it was no more, he drew the panel to. Had 
he been able to see then on its other side, he would have seen 
Minerva’s helmeted head^pop up and settle itself all right and tight 
on her shoulders, as if nothing had happened, but by that time he 
was at the bottom of the staircase. It did not reach beyond a 
turn or two, and ended in a long always-downward-winding passage 
barely three feet wide and hardly higher. 

Through this scudded Charles as well as he could, like a rabbit 
in a burrow, always down and down, and twisting and turning, 
guided by the glimmering of daylight which entered by little holes 
pierced at few-and-far-between distances in the thick stone wall on 
his left hand. Still on and on he went the downward way, till 
at last the air began to turn from cool to clammy, damp, and cold, 
and he stood still to listen, for there came a sound through the 
deadly silence. It was the trickling of water, and he guessed he 
must be close upon the moat. 

The next moment he found his right hand was touching cold 
moss-covered stone instead of dry wood as hitherto. His heart 
fluttered like the wings of a bird, but he stepped on, feeling every 
inch of the way. In this manner he descended several stone steps 
that were slippery with ooze and felt jagged and crumbling under 
his feet. At the bottom of the steps he found himself standing 
on smooth and level ground, and, pausing to take breath, he listened 
again. The water was over his head, he could hear it gurgling 
slowly and solemnly on, and all round him was pitchy darkness, 
but far on straight ahead he saw, or fancied he saw, a gleam of , 
reddish light. 

Plucking heart of grace, he moved on again, and soon the fancy 
became a certainty. It was the light of the sun now nearing the 
end of his course, and it was piercing the bars of a grating. From 
fluttering^ Charles’s heart now stood still, for a great dismay seized 
him. What if that grating closed in the passage? Why, then, since 


HONOR BRIGHT 


23 



he had noticed that there was no handle or mark of any kind at 
the back of the panel in the Cedar Room, he would not be able to 
open it, even it he dared to go back, and so he would be caught 
like a rat in a trap! It wanted some courage to go on and make 
certain, and only after a second or two he found it, and, groping his 


24 


HONOR BRIGHT 


way on, reached the grating, to find that it was as he had thought 
so possible. The grating was just high and wide enough to allow 
of a person getting out of it. It stood on the top of a steep narrow 
flight of stone steps, and as Charles mounted these, the afternoon 
sunlight broke upon it from the outside, and he saw that it was chained 
and padlocked; but as he took hold of the padlock, it fell to pieces 
in his hand, all eaten through and through with rust. Then he saw 
that the links of the chain were equally useless, and as he gave the 
grating a push they all rattled and fell helplessly to the ground. 

For a moment more the gate stuck hard, but with another 
tremendous push of Charles’s shoulder, it yielded with a screech, 
and swung back as far as a heap of mud and rotten leaves allowed 
it to go, and this was far enough to allow of Charles’s slender little 
body squeezing through. 

When he got outside, he found himself — where? Ah! that was 
the puzzle of it. That he was beyond the moat of course he knew, 
but was he beyond the garden walls? If he was not — but he 
was, a good way beyond, right out in the fields ; for though he was 
cooped up in a round sort of a bricked-in place like a well, and could 
see nothing but a close tangle of gorse and bramble overhead, he 
could hear the voices of the country folk, the neighing of horses, 
and the creaking of wagon-wheels hard by. And all at once as he 
listened the voices broke out in a loud cheery chorus. “ Harvest 
Home,” sang the men, women, and children, while dogs barked, and 
the birds sang louder than ever : — 

“ Harvest Home ! ” 

Merrily sing we all, “ Harvest Home I” 

And Charles knew that he was free. 


CHAPTER IV 


A NIGHT JOURNEY 

A S the wagon-wheels creaked nearer and nearer, and the singing 
of the merry-makers came past him, Charles had all the 
work in the world to keep himself from leaping up out of the hole 
to join them, they seemed so happy. He himself did not feel any- 
thing like so happy as he had expected. He could not have laughed 
in that light-hearted way as the children did, chasing each other 
in and out of the gorse-bushes so near the edge of the hole that 
he could have caught them by the ankles as they ran. 

At last all had passed by, and the only sound to be heard was 
the distant rumbling of the heavy-laden wagon-wheels down the hilly 
lane, or could it be the roll of distant thunder? for as he peeped 
over the edges of the hole he saw that the sun was setting in a 
bank of nearly black clouds. When he thought, that he was quite 
safe from being seen he scrambled up to the top of the hole, 
and a strange sight he looked, for his velvet breeches and his shirt 
and his face and hands were all one grimy drab color with the 
cobwebby dust and dirt he had gone through. Really, if anybody 
had spied him, there would have been no small difficulty in recog- 
nizing the little Prince who always went so richly and tastefully 
attired. No one, however, saw him as, taking one sharp look round, 
he sped like a lapwing with bent head through the thick tall furze- 
bushes covering the waste ground to the edges of the thicket beyond. 
At the other side of the thicket ran the bright stream whose course 
he intended to follow, as he knew that some miles ahead it joined 
the river Thames. 

There, at the bottom of the broad steep-sloping bank he soon 
reached, lay a largish boat tied by a rope to the stem of an elm- 

25 


26 


HONOR BRIGHT 


tree. Charles’s heart leapt within him: that was just the thing he 
wanted. Surely some kind woodland fairy must have placed it there, 
as fairies do in story-books, for his convenience. The next minute 
his delight faded out : another glance showed that the craft was 
loaded rather heavily for its size with some wicker-baskets and a 
small cask and a sack which peeped out from beneath a big 
canvas covering, and of course to get in and row off, with all that 
cargo aboard, would make him like a thief, so the plan was 
impossible. While he was cogitating on this most difficult question 
he heard voices, and voices that he knew well, too. No less than 
those of Lady Chauncy and Wynkin, who seemed to be coming 
through the trees. Charles turned all gooseflesh with dismay. To 
make a run for it would, likely as not, land him right into her lady- 
ship’s stiff brocade skirts. There was not a minute to think, and 
so he ran the other way down the bank faster than a rabbit, and 
hey presto! with one leap he was at the bottom of the boat, and, 
creeping under the canvas among the sacks. 

Feeling as if his heart was really in his mouth, he listened to 
what the lady and her serving-man were saying, and her ladyship, 
who spoke first, seemed in one of her pleasantest humors. 

And so you are off, Wynkin,” said she; “ well; the sooner the 
better perchance, for I believe there will be a storm before morning, 
and you have a long way to go, and your good father and mother 
are, I doubt not, wearying to give you a welcome. You must tell 
them that when his Highness hath been delivered safe back to his 
Majesty out of our charge, you will tarry with them a longer time. 
But now I shall look for you at midday to-morrow. Meantime I 
shall wait upon the Prince entirely myself, since my husband desires 
it. And so a good journey to you, and make my remembrances to 
your parents, and I trust they will have good enjoyment of the 
gallimaufries and the what-nots I beg their acceptance of, and that 
your mother will find the red cloak warm and a good fit. Is all 
well and securely packed in the boat, Wynkin?” 

Yes, madam,” replied Wynkin, making a low bow to his 
mistress, though, of course, Charles was only able to imagine that. 



V. 


“And so you are off, Wynkin ; well, the sooner / 
the better perchance, for I believe there 
will be a storm before morning.” 


28 


HONOR BRIGHT 


I have placed the cloak and the fresh butter, and the new-laid 
eggs, and the manchets, all in their baskets between the sacks,” 
and, stepping into the punt, he loosed the rope from the tree, 
struck out into midstream, and away glided the punt to the music 
of the river ripples. 

If Wynkin had only known what he was carrying away from 
the Manor House along with his sacks and what-nots, as my lady 
called them, he might have whistled other sort of tunes than the 
jolly ones he indulged in as he punted on, on, till twilight darkened 
into night, and Charles, cooped up between the sacks, could no 
longer discern hedges from banks through the peephole he could 
keep open -for himself only with difficulty. 

All of a sudden, just as he heard the distant church clocks 
striking eight, a brilliant flash of lightning covered all he could see, 
followed by a crash of thunder, and then down upon the canvas 
covering pattered rain-drops as heavily as if they were crown pieces. 
For a short time the hurly-burly was so terriflc that he almost, if 
not quite, wished himself back in the Cedar Room. 

Just as the hurricane began to calm a little, Wynkin punted 
towards the bank, which was now fringed by a row of pollard willows, 
and he shouted to a man who was standing under them, “ Is it 
you, Dickon lad ? ” 

‘‘ Ay,” answered the man, as he lent a hand to the punt, while 
Wvnkin jumped out of it. A nice storm you be come in, brother 
Wynkin.” 

“Yes,” laughed Wynkin, “ but ’tis giving over a bit now. Have 
you got the cart? ” 

“ Nay,” said Dickon; “ old Dobbin’s so mortal afeard o’ lightning 
that I wouldn’t bring him out, and I’ve trundled down the garden 
wheel -barrel' my sen, just to load with any small odds and ends you 
may have with you, and in the mornin’ we can come down and 
fetch the sacks, eh?” 

“ Right,” said Wynkin, “ and here you are — catch,” and, stretch- 
ing his arm under the canvas without removing it, he drew out the 
neatly packed baskets of good things which Lady Chauncy had sent 


HONOR BRIGHT 


29 


as presents to his parents. “Now then, help me to tow the punt 
up alongside under the trees, and then wedl be starting, for Fm as 
wet through as a fish.” 

Then in a few minutes they had the punt safely tied up to the 
willow-stems, and away they went chatting cheerily as they trun- 
dled the barrow over the bank into the wet road beyond. For the 
first time Charles ventured to stir, creeping out from among the 
sacks as quickly as his cramped limbs permitted, into the body of 
the punt. He was chilled to the bone, and very hungry, and thought 
longingly of that roast beef he had despised so much some hours 
before, and he almost wished he had not left his doublet behind him. 
Fortunately, however, in groping along, he tumbled right 
down over something soft. It turned out to be the crimson frieze 
cloak, which in the darkness and in the hurry must have dropped 
out of the basket. How beautifully soft and warm and dry it felt! 
And with a cry of delight, Charles wrapped himself round in it from 
his head to his little ice-cold feet, and then, as luck would have it, 
out fell a manchet of the white bread, which must have caught in 
among the folds of the cloak, and without more ado Charles took 
a deep bite into it as he sat down in the bottom of the punt, 
huddled up warmly in the cloak. “ And then I must be on the 
march,” he said to himself, cheered a little by the warmth and the 
food, but before he had swallowed three mouthfuls, his eyelids 
drooped heavily, his weary limbs 
slackened, and he was fast asleep. 

When he awoke, dawn was just 
breaking fair and rosy over the 
distant hills. He sprang to his feet 
in affright, quite unconscious for the 
moment where he was, but his wits 
soon came back to him, and he 
looked cautiously round across the 
still, shadowy, low-lying banks. He 
could now see that beyond the trees 
stretched a gorse-covered common. 



30 


HONOR BRIGHT 



and between, alongside 
the stream, wound a 
road. 

Drawing off the 
cloak, he placed it back 
under the canvas, though 
rather reluctantly, for 
the air was chilly. 
Then, having made short 
work of the morsel of 
the white bread he 
found in his fingers 
when he first opened 
his eyes, he mounted 
to the edge of the punt 
and sprang to the bank. 
Reaching the road, he 
walked on a little way, 
looking cautiously every 
step he took, but for 
a good mile he did not 
see a single human creature, though 
the birds were singing lustily and 
the bees and gnats were skimming 
• and skipping in the sunshine, for the morning 
• was lovely. But before long, however, the field 
and farm workers began to be about, and in 
spite of his best endeavors to dodge them by dropping in among 
the hedgerows and the gorse-clumps, he was forced to face some of 
them. They took little heed, however, of the little ragged boy, for 
ragged enough he was in his down-trodden and sodden shoes, and 
his fine white shirt and finest cloth gray breeches all gone to about 
the same mud color. With his dark locks and swarthy cheeks 
smudged with dirt and the juice of the blackberries he plucked and 
ate hungrily as he hastened on, the good folk, if they noticed him 


HONOR BRIGHT 


31 


at all, took him for some gipsy boy. But his heart was beginning 
to grow as heavy as his limbs, which were so weary that he could 
hardly put one bruised and bleeding foot before the other. All his 
merry adventure-loving thoughts were fading fast, and in their place 
rose up the terrible .fear that when he reached London the King, 
instead of being rejoiced to see him, might be displeased. It was just 
possible, and the more tired he got, the more possible somehow it 
seemed, till at last he became terrified, for when his father was 
angry, his frown made the hearts of even grown-up great lords 
quake. All at once he fancied he heard voices calling, and over- 
whelmed with terror and fatigue, he had just strength enough left 
to hobble away into the wood which now ran along the roadside, 
till he seemed quite hidden, and, huddling together into the hollow 
of an old oak-tree, he sank down, sobbing bitterly. 



CHAPTER V 


MOLLY 

A A 7 HAT is the matter, itty boy? Why are you kying so?’’ 

V V And while the voice spoke soft and sweet as the coo of 
a dove, two little hands very gently, but finnly, clasped Charles’s 
hands, which were covering his face, and tried to draw them away. 

He looked up, and, rubbing the blinding tears from his eyes, he 
beheld a little girl about six years old. She was a very chubby- 
cheeked tot of a thing, with short golden curls running over her 
head, and half covering her eyes, that were looking at him with 
immense curiosity. 

“ Are oo a blackamoor? ” she asked, shrinking back a step as 
she saw his face. 

“ No,” said Charles, bursting into a merry laugh, “ but I expect 
I have rather a dirty face.” 

She nodded. “ Blacker than oor hands even. But what was 
you kying for ? ” 

“Well,” said Charles, “ for one thing I — well. I’m dreadfully 
hungry. I believe I could eat a horse.” 

“ Do you? ” said the child, with a glad light in her eyes as she 
opened a tiny satchel hanging on her plump arm, and taking from 
it a splendid prancing horse with a king crowned riding on his back, 
all made of gilt gingerbread. “ I’s so glad — here’s a man on horse- 
back from Banbury Fair — can you eat him too? ” 

“ Truly yes, and thank you, little maid,” laughed her new friend, 

32 





Are 00 a blackamoor?’’ she asked, 

shrinking back a step as she saw his face. 




34 


HONOR BRIGHT 


taking the gingerbread from her tiny 
fingers. “Why, ’tis the King! Long 
life to his Majesty!” he added, as he 
bit the man’s head off, and seemed to 
enjoy it heartily. “ What is your name, 
dear? ” he went on, with his mouth full. 

“What is oors?” said she, with a 
roguish twirl of her ripe red lips. 

“ Charles.” 

“ Ah, mine’s Molly — Molly Speed- 
well.” 

“And whose little girl are you?” 
“ I’m the miller’s daughter of Oak- 
side, and there’s my home,” she went 
on, pointing through the trees, and 
Charles discerned a red-roofed, white walled cottage standing in a 
garden. Hard by, upon a high turfy mound, was a mill, whose sails 
were whirling fast in the morning breeze. “ And there’s the mill.” 

“ Oh,” said Charles, much disconcerted, “ well, good-bye, little 
girl.” 

“ Don’t go,” pleaded the child, the tears brimming into her eyes. 

“ Needs must — I’ve got to be in London as quickly as I can. 
I’m going to see the King — ” He stopped short and clapped his hand 
upon his mouth. 

“ Then you may as well save yourself the journey, youngster,” 
said a deep, manly voice behind him, with a laugh of amusement. 
“ The King is hundreds of miles away from London. He started 
northward three days ago. And what, forsooth, can you be wanting 
of the King? ” 

Charles turned dumb with confusion to see before him a man 
white as a ghost from top to toe with flour. It was the miller, 
and taking up in his arms the little girl, who ran to him delight- 
edly, he went on, “ What can a gipsy boy like you be wanting of 
the King?” 

“ I am not a gipsy boy,” began Charles, “ that is, I — I ” 



HONOR BRIGHT 


35 


“ Always tell the truth,” said the miller. “ Have you run away 
— from your camp?” he added, when Charles did not answer. 
“ Where is the camp? ”. 

“ That’s just what I don’t know,” said Charles, who was thinking 
always of the soldiers’ camp, while the miller had, of course, the 
gipsies’ camp in his mind, as he looked at the little ragged boy, 
whose face somehow pleased him, in spite of its grimy state. 

“ I can’t find it, and — and — ” and the tears broke forth afresh, 
“ I don’t know what to do.” 

And then Molly began to cry bitterly, “ Poor itty boy,” she 
sobbed. “ He’s dot no home, daddy.” 

“ H’m,” grunted the miller, ‘‘ and a lazy loon anyhow he is, 
I’ll warrant.” 

No, faith, that I’m not,” contradicted Charles, with a flash of 
indignation in his eyes. 

“ Would you like to work, if you’d the chance? ” said the miller, 
at the mill here, for example? ” 

“ Try me,” said Charles, looking longingly at the sails as they 
twirled, dazzling as silver in the sunshine. Of all things in the 
world, next to a colonel, he thought he would like to be a miller, 
and have to do with those sails and great, fat sacks. Only try me.” 

Very well, I will for a week,” said the miller, but, mind 
you, it isn’t play work. Come along. ’Tis a busy time, and I’ve 
no objections to an extra hand, if he’s a good, honest one.” 

Molly clapped her two little hands with delight, and trotted 
ofif indoors to tell her mother all that had happened. And in an 
hour there was a marvelous sight, for the blackamoor boy was 
turned into such a whitymoor sort of a figure that there was 
certainly less chance than ever of anyone recognizing him for the 
little runaway Prince of Wales. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE RED CLOAK AND THE BLUE ROSETTE 

M eanwhile there was dire dismay at the Manor. Housewhen 
Lady Chauncy entered the Cedar Room and found it empty. 
She could not for a long time bring herself to believe her own eyes, 
and when at last she was compelled to do so, she wrung her hands 
and behaved almost like a frenzied creature. Both she and her 
husband had believed the room to be the securest place in the 
house, since the walls were of stone all round. That that one 
square of stone had been cut out behind the panel with goddess 
Minerva on it, nobody, in fact, had known for more than a hundred 
years, when the Lord of the Manor House of that time perished 
fighting for the White Rose, and the secret of the moving panel 
had perished with him. That the young Prince could have got out 
by the window was too terrible to think of. It seemed impossible, 
moreover, for the lattice was barred, leaving but quite narrow spaces 
between. Nevertheless, Lady Chauncy caused the moat to be 
dragged, but happily, of course, to no purpose. 

It all seemed like some dreadful conjuring trick. Lady Chauncy 
did not know whether she was more glad or sorry that her hus- 
band had not returned. About a fortnight hence he was to be 
back, and the King with him, to fetch Charles away from the Manor 
House. Meanwhile she hesitated to send information to his Majesty 
of what h..d happened, because that would be spreading news which 
the Roundhead party against the King would take advantage of, 
and try to get the boy into their hands in order to drive a bargain 
with King Charles. Could it be they, she asked herself in her per- 
plexity, who had spirited him away? 

This was the terrible state of things Wynkin found when next 
afternoon he returned to the Manor. He was the more troubled 
by the thought that Lady Chauncy might imagine him to have 
been untrue to his trust after so many years of faithful service. 

36 


HONOR BRIGHT 


37 


'‘But what do you advise, Wynkin?” said her ladyship, im- 
patiently tapping the floor with the point of her silken slipper. “ Do 
say something,” she added, as Wynkin maintained a thoughtful 
silence. 

“ Well, then, speaking what I think,” replied Wynkin, “ it is 
that I would advise your ladyship to get a good night’s rest.” 

“ Rest, forsooth. What next? ” 

“ It is too late to be doing anything to-day.” 



“And meanwhile?” cried Lady Chauncy despairingly. 

“ Meanwhile,” said Wynkin, “ there is a good Providence over 
us all.” 

“ Perhaps you are right,” said Lady Chauncy, as she rose and 
went to her sleeping-chamber, but not to sleep. 

When, however, the last light was out in the windows of the 


38 


HONOR BRIGHT 


Manor House Wynkin let himself out by a little postern of the 
garden wall, and strolled onward by way of the bit of waste ground 
till he reached the edge of the thicket, walking to and fro under 
the trees by the dim light of the moon, cogitating deeply over a 
curious circumstance which he had decided not to inform his 
mistress of in too great haste, lest her hopes might be raised to no 
purpose. The one very certain fact was that when he and Dickon 
came that m.orning about six o’clock to unload the punt of the 
sacks, he had found the crimson frieze cloak on the top of them, 
all crumpled and mud soiled, and touched here and there with 
marks like tiny finger-marks. In some dim fashion it made Wynkin 
fancy that he began to see daylight. At all events, he suddenly 
saw the light of a lantern dodging about before him among the 
furze clumps — and as already more than a day had gone by since 
Charles was missing, and such news spreads like wildfire in spite of 
the utmost precaution, Wynkin was considerably disturbed at sight 
of the light, which glanced now and again on the figure of a person 
in a broad slouch-brimmed hat and shrouded in a long black cloak. 

Hullo! ” he called, “ who goes there? ” 

‘‘ Nobody,” replied a disagreeable squeaky sort of man’s voice. 

Anyway, ’tis no concern of yours.” 

We’ll soon settle that question. Master Jack o’ Lantern,” said 
Wynkin, bounding down over the hillocks towards the figure. Not, 
however, before the man, dropping the lantern right into the middle 
of the gorse clump he was hovering over, was pelting ofY as quick 
as his heavy cloak would let him. 



HONOR BRIGHT 


39 



In a minute Wyn- 
kin would have laid 
him by the heels, but 
suddenly up rose a 
tremendous flare, for 
the lantern had fal- 
len open as it dropped 
and the light had 
caught the gorse, 
and the strange part 
of it all was that, as 
the bush broke into 
one huge flame, it 
fell disappearing into 
the ground, as if 
there was a deep hole 
beneath. Looking 
down, that was 
precisely what 
Wynkin be- 
held, a deep 
hole, bricked 
round, and in 
one side a half-open grated door. 

Looking regretfully enough after the fast-disappearing figure of 
Master Jack o’ Lantern, Wynkin caught up the lantern and, setting 
it straight, he jumped into the hole, where the bush was already 
smouldering to nothing. He peered through the open grating, and the 
next moment he passed in. Where are we, I wonder?” he said 
to himself, ‘‘and — hullo! what’s this?” he went on, as he nearly 
set foot on something that glittered in the lantern"^ gleam, bright 
as a star. 

It was a blue ribbon rosette, tied with silver cord, of the exact 
pattern of the rosettes the little Prince was wearing on his shoes. 
It was all sodden and soiled now with the mud it lay in, and 


40 


HONOR BRIGHT 


Wynkin picked it up as carefully as if it had been some little 
wounded bird, and placed it inside his vest next his heart, which 
beat fast with eager expectation. Then he hastened on, looking right 
and left all the way he went, threading the windings of the narrow 
passage, and up the twisting staircases, till at last he could go no 
farther because the wooden panel barred his progress. ‘‘ Oh, ho ! ” 
again said he to himself, as he set his shoulder against the wood 
and pushed it with so much more force than it required that it 
flapped round before he could right himself, and he fell sprawling, 
lantern and all, along the floor. 

“ By my faith ! ” he said, as he picked himself and the lantern 
up, and stood looking round while he rubbed his shoulder, “ it is 
the Cedar Room ! ” 

And then more clearly than ever Wynkin began to see daylight, 
but all the same his face was very grave and anxious, for he was 
vexed with himself that he had not first given chase to Master Jack 
o’ Lantern, as he called him. “ For what could he be wanting 
skulking round the place like that for? Ill news flies apace, and I 
doubt not the malcontents are aware already of the child’s escape. 
Well,” he added more cheerfully, 

“ ‘ Hot boiled beans, and very good butter,"* 

Ladies and gentlemen, come to supper.’ 

but for all the flare he made, he warn’t very warm, I fancy. The 
boy is not in hiding hereabouts, if that red cloak means anything.” 




CHAPTER VIT 

HONOR BRIGHT 

O RDINARILY speaking, there is of course rarely much difficulty 
in tracking little truant boys or even girls. Prince Charles 
was not, however, a mere ordinary little boy. He was the King’s son, 
and the people, who were beginning to think of fighting against 
King Charles on account of displeasure with some of his ways of 
governing, would have been very glad to get the child into their 
power. They thought they would be able to make a better 
bargain with the King, who would agree sooner to what they 
demanded out of fear that, if he did not do so, they might harm 
the little boy. There were good and just Roundheads, as those 
discontented persons were called, who would not have lent their 
aid or approval to such miserable and mean ways of settling matters, 


41 


42 


HONOR BRIGHT 


and among the many of them was the miller of Oakside. He was 
a strict Roundhead, and if the quarrel came to a fight, he was quite 
determined that he would, if it was necessary, lay down his life for 
what he considered the right and good cause, against the King. 
Still he prayed and trusted that there would not be war in the 
kingdom, and the sorry sight of Englishmen fighting with English- 
men. It seemed too fearful, and he now went about his work with a 
very grave face, though, in a general way, he was neither sad nor 
sour-natured, but a brave, industrious, honest, cheery man. 

When Wynkin was admitted next morning to Lady Chauncy’s 
little sitting-room, he at once informed her of the past night’s ad- 
ventures. She was very much astonished at his discovery in the 
Cedar Room. “ ’Tis certain,” she said, with almost a smile on her 
troubled face, ‘‘ that, as my husband so often hath said, ' A fortress 
is not stronger than its weakest part,’ which in this case appears, 
from what you tell me, Wynkin, to be Minerva’s nose. But who’d 
have thought it? and if your guess is correct about the red cloak, 
as I am persuaded it is, that is the direction in which this most 
naughty boy hath gone.” 

And ere many days passed, Wynkin’s guesses became certainties, 
for, after all, Oakside was only a very few miles from the village in 
which his father and mother lived, for all Charles fancied he had 
walked an immense long way that morning before he sat down and 
sobbed under the oak-tree. Had the matter been merely one of 
coming to Oakside, and fetching him away, the little runaway would 
soon have been back again at the Manor, but it was not. There 
were now spies, and a number of other evil-minded persons, loiter- 
ing for many miles round, ready to attack any of the Royalist folk, 
as the King’s party were called, who should attempt to carry him 
away from Oakside. While he was under the miller’s roof or in 
his care, they did not dare to touch him, as the Miller himself 
was a powerful Roundhead, and one who was much trusted and 
very wise in his way. 

Meanwhile, the miller’s boy turned out a capital boy for 
such a small one. He was most diligent, rising with the lark, 


HONOR BRIGHT 


43 


and so obliging and obedient, and, though sad sometimes, he was 
generally merry, singing at his work, and when the millwork was 
done, he would fetch in water from the well for Mistress Speedwell, 
and logs from the out-house for the great kitchen hearth-place, for 
the evenings were beginning to grow chilly, and he played cat’s 
cradle and spillikins with Molly, and cut out little men and women 
and cows and dogs from paper, to her boundless delight, and the 
miller, for all he was so silent, and even grim in his manner to him, 
was forced to yield him a good word when Mistress Speedwell 
would ask her husband if he did not consider that the shelter they 
had given the poor forlorn gipsy lad had returned as a blessing on 
themselves, for Mistress Speedwell did not know the truth, what- 
ever her husband might know, or whatever he might suspect. 

The only fault Mistress Speedwell had to find with him was 
that, though he kept himself very neat and spruce in the linen 
jacket and breeches she made for him, he never could be persuaded 
to wash the flour off his face. The reason he gave for this was 
that millers were always white. It was the proper thing for them 
to be so. 

One evening she grew really angry about this, “ Do you hear? ” 
she said, “ I insist on you washing your face. When you came, it 
was as black as a tinker’s, and then you had not been here a couple 
of hours before you got it all over flour. If you do not do as I 
bid you, I will take you and souse your head in the pail myself.” 

“ Please ” began the boy. 

“ Ah, please me no please,” she cried, turning to her husband; 
will you not have the urchin obey me ? ” 

“ You hear what you are bidden to do,” said the miller to the 
boy, but he spoke rather unwillingly. And Charles crept off, daring 
no longer to disobey. 

“ Ah, now,” said Mistress Speedwell, when he returned with his 
brown cheeks shining like a warming-pan with the rubbing she had 
bidden him not to be sparing of, and a deep flush from brow to 
chin, “ now we can look truth in the face,” and she was satisfied, 
and settled quietly to her wheel ; and Molly, who had been sorely 


44 


HONOR BRIGHT 


disheartened to hear her playmate scolded, smiled delightedly. 
She thought it was the nicest boy’s face she had ever seen; but the 
miller looked graver than ever, and only said “ Umph ! ” as he 
glanced over some letters he had received that day, and then sat 
gazing in a very troubled manner into the fire. 

The next evening soon after dark a solemn-looking, plainly- 
attired gentleman rode up to the gate of the cottage and asked to 
see Master John Speedwell. He was shown into the best room, 
where he kept the miller talking for more than an hour, but the 
interview did not appear to have been very satisfactory to the visitor, 
who said to Speedwell, as he went away, “ I trust that you will 
come to see the error of your resolve. And,” he went on, when 
the miller made no reply, “ seeing that you are not rich ” 

“ No, I am a poor man,” said the miller, ‘‘ but I hope always 
to remain an honorable man, and I will give up the boy for no 
money price.” 

'‘Not even in the good cause?” scowled the stranger. 

“ The cause would be no longer good were I to do this that 
you seek of me. So fare you well, sir, for by my honor, which I 
have always kept bright and fair, I will deliver the boy only into 
the hands to whom he belongs.” 

" Well,” said the stranger, in deeply-angered tones, “ you know 
what to expect — I have warned you.” 

" And though my house be stormed, and you should be able 
to kidnap the boy — which I much doubt you shall succeed in 
doing — I abide by what I have said,” replied the miller. 

And so the stranger mounted his horse again, muttering and 
grumbling till he was gone out of- sight. 

Then the miller returned to the kitchen, and sat down by the 
fire alone. The rest of the little household were all abed. He 
listened intently. For a long time there was no sound but the brisk 
night wind stirring round the house, but as the village church-clock 
struck eleven, there came a low tap on the lattice. The miller 
rose, and, drawing aside the curtain, said in a low tone as he 
opened the lattice, " Are you ready? ” Lof C. 


HONOR BRIGHT 


45 


“ Ay, ready,” replied the person who tapped, dropping the folds 
of the big cloak he was wearing from about his face, which was 
Wynkin’s. 

“ Tis well you are come to-night,” said the miller, “ for my 



house is threatened. They might even storm it to-morrow and 
steal the Prince, for all my endeavor.” 

‘‘ I dared not venture till to-night,” said Wynkin, “ but I know 
that this evening the coast is clear. They are all gone upon another 
scent.” 


46 


HONOR BRIGHT 


“ Come with me,” said the miller, and he led the way above 
stairs. “ Have you a horse? ” 

“ Nay,” smiled Wynkin, ” I have the punt; which is safer, since 
it is less suspected, and it is freighted with half a dozen stout men- 
at-arms under the canvas.” 

“ Take your treasure,” said the miller, as he unlocked a door, 
and motioned Wynkin to approach the bed where the miller’s boy 
lay sleeping soundly after his day’s fetching and carrying, “ if indeed, 
as I believe, it belong to your master.” 

“ Ay, truly it is our lost one,” murmured Wynkin, as he lifted 
the sleeping child so gently in his arms that he did not stir, but 
seemed only to breathe the more restfully as the trusty serving- 
man wrapped his cloak close round him so that he could not be 
seen. “ Heaven reward you. Master Speedwell,” and, turning down 
the stairway he sped out by the door, never stopping till he reached 
the punt held fast alongside by many hands that stretched from 
under the canvas covering. Then as the word was given, away, fast, 
on and on glided the punt, and sleeping the restful sleep of a tired 
child, the little Prince never stirred till far on towards morning just 
before the breaking of the dawn, by which time he lay in his own 
little carved bed in the Cedar Room shaded by its silken curtains, 
and then Charles was too drowsy to understand much. 

“ Is that you, Wynkin? ” he murmured, as at the sound of his 
voice the serving-man came beside him, while Lady Chauncy and 
Sir William, and a tall, dignified gentleman, who was the King, and 
had but that night arrived at the Manor, drew back, lest they might 
startle the boy. ‘‘ Is it you, Wynkin, dear? ” 

“ Yes, your Highness.” 

“ Ah ! you don’t know what mighty strange dreams I’ve been 
dreaming. All about windmills, and little tots of girls, and then, 

oh, Wynkin, a terrible dark hole — so dark ” 

Think of that now ! ” interrupted Wynkin. “ Well, if I were 
you I’d wait and tell it all to-morrow.” 

Yes, and then I heard my father’s voice. I wish that wasn’t 
all a dream, I can tell you.” 


HONOR BRIGHT 


47 


“ Well, I expect that will be coming true before many days — 
perhaps many hours — are over. But, go to sleep again now, won’t 
you?” 

“Yes. Is this the Cedar Room?” 

“ Certainly. You like the Cedar Room, don’t you? ” 

“ Oh, yes. ’Tis well enough, but I don’t like the door of it to 
be locked.” 

“ Oh, well, then we must talk to Lady Chauncy about it to- 
morrow,” said Wynkin, as he stole a sly glance at her ladyship, who 
smiled in her white prim frame of a cap. “ It is a grave question, 
and will have to be considered.” 

“ No, it will not,” said the Prince of Wales. “ ’Tis proper for 
my wishes to be obeyed.” 

“ Well, if you promise not to run away, perhaps ” 

“ Run away — I do not want to run away. I ” 

“You’d promise you wouldn’i 
“ Certainly.” 

“ On your honor? ” 

“ Honor bright” murmured 
Charles as he fell asleep again. 

^ ^ ^ ^ 

It is hardly necessary to say 
that Charles kept his word. The 
favor he desired was granted him 
after he had been summoned next 
day to the presence of the King 
and of Sir William and Lady 
Chauncy in the dining-hall. Each 
of them in turn pointed out to 
him not only the terrible danger 
he had exposed himself to by 
running away out into the wide 
world, but also the misery and 
strife that had nearly come, of it 
for everybody — not by any means 



48 


HONOR BRIGHT 


least or last for good Master and Mistress Speedwell and the sweet 
little maid Molly, who had been so kind and pitying of his plight. 

After that Charles was permitted to leave the great shadowy hall, 
and since the King and Sir William considered that he must have 
suffered enough, and had shown himself brave as boys should be 
under difficulties and privations, no more was said about the matter 
by the King or by Sir William, Lady Chauncy, however, never 
wearied for a long time of lamenting that she could not “ give him a 
good whipping as he deserved,” she said, “ as much as any other 
naughty little boy,” and to escape that was one of the very few ad- 
vantages Charles found in being the King’s eldest son, upon whom 
at that time it was not accounted lawful to lay whipping materials 
of any kind. 

Till a short time after, when his father took him to London 
with him, Charles had his freedom in the old house as far as his 
given word allowed it him. As to Wynkin, he remained Charles’s 
most trusty and well-beloved friend to the end of his long life. 

Molly grew up to be a brave yeoman’s wife, and of winter 
nights as she sat at her wheel and little, merry-faced, golden- haired, 
blue-eyed children, like once she herself had been, were gathered 
round her, she would relate the story of the gipsy boy who was 
now King of England. As for the miller, he lived long and peace- 
fully, not mixing so much as of old in the affairs of the nation, but 
attending to the grinding of his corn, and listening with a contented 
mind to the music of the mill-sails, as they whirled in the wind. 


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